Omelets
by FitlyChosen
Summary: Who's the first person you call whether the news is bad or good? Jack and Liz both begin to see how their relationship could grow.
1. Chapter 1 — Pancakes and Wine

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to _30 Rock_._

**Chapter 1 — Pancakes and Wine**

"It's not mine, Lemon. The baby's not mine," Jack said as he slung his jacket over the back of a chair.

"What?" Liz asked, fumbling to lock the door behind him.

"I'm not the father of Avery's baby," he said. "We went to the doctor today for a check-up. She's 13 weeks along. I hadn't even met her then. Apparently Dodcacil can mask the signs of pregnancy for up to five months. It's a fluke she found out so early, and… good God, Lemon, what did you burn in here?"

"Oh, I made pancakes for dinner. I always burn the first ones in the pan, especially when I add chocolate chips."

"Did you burn all of them?" He looked at her hopefully.

"I'll get you some." She dragged her tousled hair back as she walked to the refrigerator. She put a stack of leftover pancakes in the microwave, and he watched as she stretched to reach the syrup at the top of the cabinet. The hem of her boxer shorts was frayed and the old T-shirt was pocked with tiny holes. But she'd opened her door without hesitation or question at 2 a.m., and she was handing him a plate of pancakes swimming in syrup.

Liz stood in front of Jack as he dropped onto the couch and raised his fork.

"Jack, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the baby."

He looked up with wounded eyes. "Me too, Lemon."

She watched detachment wash into those eyes, denying the presence of sadness before.

"But what about Avery?" she asked.

"What about Avery?" he returned the question.

"I mean, what changed? Why aren't you at her place now?"

"She's still having the baby and is now considering suing the father, apparently a crew member at the network."

"Of course," Liz said. "What else would she do? But Jack — she conceived the baby before you met her. She didn't cheat on you. You've spent weeks telling me reasons you love her. So why are you here?"

He rubbed a chunk of his pancake around in the syrup before lifting the dripping bite to his mouth.

"Well, she couldn't cheat because we weren't exclusive," he said. "But the moments the doctor spent narrowing the due date became a sexual tell-all worthy of confession."

"Not like you weren't spending a lot of time with Nancy then," Liz said reasonably.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. I'm not blaming Avery for seeking her own pleasure. I admired… loved, even… her aggressive nature, biting wit, and conservative ideals, but in that moment that the doctor said the baby couldn't be mine, I knew that I was with Avery because of the baby, not the things I loved about Avery. We could keep having fun, or I could accept the inevitable end now."

"So that's done," Liz said. "And you've realized your biological clock is ticking as loudly as mine. I expect you to mock me much less about that now."

He barked a brief laugh.

"Ah, Lemon," Jack said as he pushed the empty plate across the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. "You are as comforting as ever in a time of turmoil."

"I do what I can," she said, tucking her feet under herself and rubbing her arms. "Why do you always get cold when you get out of bed in the middle of the night, even when the room is warm?"

"Stop grousing and get a blanket — not your Slanket, please; that thing is repulsive — so you won't chatter into incomprehensibility before I leave," Jack said.

She twisted her body over the arm of the couch, coming up triumphantly with a fleece blanket she wrapped around her shoulders.

"So explain to me again why Avery's not right. And where does this leave things with Nancy? I just can't believe that after all the pros and cons I've heard from you lately that both of these relationships are just… dead."

"Can I get some wine?" he asked abruptly. Liz waved him toward the kitchen and settled into the corner of the couch as he banged around the kitchen. She blinked owlishly and covered a yawn. Her body screamed for sleep, but Jack had listened to her too many times for her to kick him out when he needed to talk.

"Hey, why do all your crises happen after hours when I at least have the decency to only distract you from work with my problems?" she called toward the kitchen.

"Lemon, I have a personal life," he snorted, sticking his head around the kitchen doorway. "Are you drinking with me?"

She shook her head and he came back to the living room with a bottle of red wine and one glass. He had loosened his tie and tossed it on top of his jacket, and he sat facing her, leaning back against the arm of the couch.

"Avery and Nancy," he said, swirling the wine in his glass and pausing to think. "That night at the wedding, Nancy asked what I loved about her, and she made me tell her what I loved about Avery."

"Ick," Liz said supportively.

"Indeed," Jack said. "And do you know what I told her? I said I wanted to take naps with Nancy and do all kinds of domestic things and feel rooted in my past. And I said that I loved Avery's fire and sharp edges. But then all the sharp edges turned into a relationship about another child, another possible comfortable, conventional married life."

He took a bolt of the wine and swirled the glass again.

"Good heavens, my biological clock really is ticking," he said. "For children, perhaps, but really for people to share my life with."

"Welcome to your post-midlife crisis, Jack," Liz said, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder.

He scowled at her.

"It's a thing. Like my dirty thirties," she said, nodding sagely.

"And clearly it's not a thing I can fix in one night," he said as he refilled his glass. "And the days of your dirty thirties are numbered."

"Wanna watch TV?" she asked.

He nodded, and she leaned across him for the remote on the end table. She began flipping through channels.

"Comedy to take your mind off your problems, or drama to give your raging hormones an outlet so you can cry?" she asked.

"Give me that," he said, snatching the remote. "I'm not in menopause."

She laughed and dropped to one elbow in the middle of the couch. He stopped on a rerun of that evening's Yankees game.

"What an all-American male choice," she said dryly.

"I have to do something to assert my manhood after talking about babies and love and drinking a really atrocious red. Really, Lemon, we need to go to a wine tasting so I can introduce you to much better stuff."

"Huh," she grunted, beginning to drift a little as her exhaustion and the monotony of the game combined in a somnolent cloud.

Jack kept drinking the atrocious wine. The next time he looked over, Liz was sprawled over, one leg twisted beneath her and her neck cricked back at a precipitous angle.

"Lemon," he said, nudging her shoulder. "Lemon," he repeated as his jostling had no effect.

She slung an arm out suddenly, tipping herself forward. Jack took advantage of gravity's action to also push her legs out from under her so that she ended up curled on her side. It looked reasonably comfortable.

With Lemon settled, he turned back to the TV, keeping his glass full as he watched the game and thought of the woman and dream of a child that he had lost that day.


	2. Chapter 2 — The Morning After

**Chapter 2 — The Morning After**

Liz awoke on her side feeling her glasses digging uncomfortably into her face. She started to reach up to adjust, but her arm was trapped. She raised her head and squinted to evaluate the situation in the gray morning light. She saw her blanket pulled over her body and realized she must have fallen asleep while the game was on. Nice of Jack to make sure she was covered before he left. She started to roll over to settle in for the last hours of sleep, but something solid and warm stopped her.

Jack was lying along the inside of the couch, spooning her body against his and pinning her arm to her side with his arm draped over her waist.

Liz froze. Sleeping with Jack, even fully clothed on the couch — not good. But they'd just fallen asleep watching TV. Whatever. This had happened with Floyd and Pete when they'd watched TV too late. But she'd never woken spooning with them. But she was still so sleepy, and she couldn't get up without waking Jack, making everything awkward and then forgetting any chance of sleep after that. She pulled her arm free and took her glasses off, tossing them on the coffee table with a clatter. Jack stirred slightly, but she felt his body relax again immediately. Still asleep. She wriggled back carefully so she wouldn't roll off the couch and began to breathe deeply and evenly again.

* * *

Jack began to awaken in lazy Saturday morning style, slowly becoming conscious before he opened his eyes. The body stretched along the front of his was warm and soft, an entirely pleasant sensation that he'd be happy to snuggle even closer toward. Avery usually didn't like to touch in bed after sex. Jack's eyes snapped open. He recognized the dark head in front of his face and the apartment beyond. The tension drained away. Not Avery. No strange one-night stand to drown his sorrows. Just pancakes, wine, and TV at Lemon's. Good God. He must still be a little drunk and very emotionally needy to be enjoying the feeling of her body against his this much.

He felt that body stretch gently.

"Sorry I kept you from your bed last night, Lemon," he said with an early morning rasp.

"'S'all righ', Jack. I actually slept pretty good," she said, ending on a wide yawn. It was warm and comfortable to wake up this way, even if it was Jack's voice vibrating through her body. Not awkward like she'd feared.

Muted morning show hosts nodded on the TV screen in front of them.

"The wine, the baseball game, the stress… I didn't mean to let them keep me from showing myself out."

Liz managed to roll onto her back as Jack pushed up on one elbow behind her.

"Let it go. It's what friends' couches are for during life crises," she said, becoming aware of the way his arm still draped over her waist, ending in a hand splayed across her stomach where her T-shirt had ridden up slightly. Seeing how close his blue eyes hovered as she spoke to him.

And there it was. The warm sleepy looseness had drained away and the awkwardness of sleeping — even platonically, to use his word — with her boss wrapped around her body had arrived full force.

"After one of the clowns told me he was gay, I went to Jenna's and we drank ourselves into a stupor," she said, sitting up swiftly. "I woke up with my head on the floor, my feet hanging over the back of the couch, and one sock and my shirt missing."

Oh, not making things better.

"Then I'm doing extremely well to be sleeping in a normal position fully clothed," he said as she shuffled toward the bathroom.

Jack sat up slowly and ambled toward the kitchen. Liz came out of the bathroom, calling, "Where are my glasses?"

She saw them on the coffee table but realized that when she'd tossed them off in the early morning hours, they had landed in the syrupy pool left on Jack's plate from the night before.

"Ah, blerg," she said as she picked up the plate to go wash her glasses, grumbling all the way to the kitchen.

She stopped cold in the doorway at the sight of Jack Donaghy barefoot in her kitchen, wearing his rumpled clothes and hair matted down on one side.

"I think the least I can do is make you breakfast before I leave," he said, voice echoing from the back of the refrigerator. "I know that you'll accept food as a true token of thanks."

"Oh, Jack, you don't have to —" she said as she held her glasses under running water.

"Nonsense. We've both got to eat."

"OK. Well, the Cheerios are in the cabinet behind you," she told him.

"Good Lord, Lemon, it's like you live in a college dorm. I'm talking about real food," he said as he pawed through the sparse contents of the refrigerator.

"I focus on keeping snacks in stock," she said, shooting him a dirty look as he continued to dig around.

"Ah," he said, straightening. "Even you have ingredients for omelets, Lemon."

"Omelets!" Her voice shimmered with excitement just shy of Sandwich Day.

Jack pulled a carton of eggs, quart of milk, leftover takeout box of ham, and a block of cheese from the refrigerator.

"How old is this?" he asked as he picked up a lone onion pushed into a corner of the counter.

"Oh, I just bought that… well, three weeks ago," her voice trailed off, embarrassed about how long perishables could sit around her apartment. "I was going to make soup."

"Well, that soup was never going to happen, anyway. And now this sad onion will make a fine omelet instead," he said as he rummaged around for a bowl, fork, and knives.

She wiped the last of the syrup from her glasses and put them on to see Jack deftly whisking the egg and chopping the onion.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to be putting on a Top Chef show in my kitchen," she said with surprise.

"Every man must have one culinary strength, Lemon," he said. "How else would I have survived the times when Colleen left the four of us to fend for ourselves over the one can of chicken noodle soup?"

"Aw," she said, charmed by the thought of a tiny Jack at the stove.

"And how else would I satisfy all of my lady friends after a night of passion?" he said.

"Ew," she said, crashing back to the present. "Gross, Jack."

"Never let it be said that Jack Donaghy loves 'em and leaves 'em," he said, pouring the eggs in the sizzling pan. "In fact, Lemon, I think you're the first to get the omelet without the passion."

She shuddered.

"As long as you give me extra cheese, I'll leave satisfied," she said.

Liz pulled down plates, forks, and cups. She started the coffeemaker and left it to gurgle while she went to watch the progress of her breakfast. Jack flipped it as the egg began to set around the edges of the ham.

"Damn. I tore the edge. Haven't been practicing enough lately," he said absently as he watched for the telltale bubbles warning him that the omelet was done.

Liz paused over his throwaway comment. Haven't practiced enough lately? For all of Jack's talk about his girls-of-the-week and even the recent talk of love, marriage, and babies, it was easy to forget how rapidly Jack jumped into relationships and how quickly they were over, leaving him with relatively few scars. He would be OK again.

"That's the closest I've ever heard you come to admitting a dry spell," Liz teased him.

"Hmmph." He ignored the implication and flipped the omelet onto one of the plates next to the stove. He divided the omelet and transferred half to the other plate while Liz filled their coffee cups. She took the first bite of her breakfast.

"Jack! This is really good!" she said as she dived back to the plate to continue.

"Thank you. It would be even better if you had proper ingredients. And since my technique failed so miserably this morning," he said, nudging the ragged split in the omelet, "I really need to practice. So come over for brunch tomorrow, and let's see what I can do now that I'm warmed up and have peppers and mushrooms and —"

"Yes! If you think you can improve on this, I'll be over tomorrow morning," she said eagerly.

They leaned into the counter and talked about an idea for a sketch for the week. Jack told Liz that it sounded totally implausible, so she told about her college experience she'd based the idea on. He laughed and told a story from the golf course when he was a junior executive trying to figure out GE's power players.

They talked until their plates and the coffeepot were empty. He asked about her plans for the day, and she shrugged, returning the question.

"Well, I'm meeting a decorator at my house at 11," he said, glancing at the microwave clock. "And — damn! When did it get so late? I can't meet with her like this. She works with three of the other vice presidents, and who knows what she'll say if I show up like this smelling like an all-night diner." Jack first gestured at his disheveled state and then at the crusty skillet where Liz had burned pancakes before he arrived the night before.

"Take a shower," she said, pushing him out of the kitchen. "Call her and tell her you're running a few minutes late, and she'll never know a thing. Give me your shirt, and I'll see what I can do with it while you clean up and deal with that situation," she said, waving at his messy hair.

He shucked the blue button-down into her hands and hurried toward the bathroom. She started rinsing a small blotch of wine on the front of the shirt, laughing that he'd been as clumsy as she was prone to be with food and clothing. The spot faded as she dabbed it, and she went to plug in the iron.

Women seemed to chase after Jack Donaghy, and she'd spent Friday night sleeping with him and Saturday morning tending his laundry. Since she was doing that, Liz allowed herself to reflect on the man himself. She could see the appeal to others. The arms that had held her, even accidentally in sleep, were confident and gentle. He could talk about his feelings, even if only briefly. He could cook, even if just an omelet. And, as she visualized him running shirtless to the shower, she thought that there was nothing wrong with his body. Broad shoulders and chest. Distinguished salt-and-pepper sideburns. And just enough of a gut to make him real.

Liz shook her head clear. Why was she thinking about Jack's body? Ick. Just finish with his shirt and send him on his way. The faint scent of his cologne rose as she pressed the iron against the fabric, and she sighed.

"You've got to get a man, Lemon," she muttered to herself.

* * *

Jack hung his trousers over the shower rod, hoping the steam would repair their wrinkles somewhat. Although the sink area of Lemon's bathroom was cluttered with hair products, and towels and underwear hung around the room haphazardly, the shower was clean and had only a few bottles on the shelf. He let the hot water soak him and reached for the shampoo with some trepidation.

He would have guessed she would pick a floral scent, but the shampoo and conditioner had an herbal, minty smell. Suprisingly nice. And he was glad to see that she was now using a gentle, oatmeal-based body wash because her complaints about her dry, itchy skin during the winter had been tedious. That didn't mean he wanted to wash with the stuff, but he was pleasantly surprised at its neutral scent. He felt lucky to find a clean towel on a shelf and dressed quickly. The pants did look better.

Jack ran Liz's round, vented brush through his hair, realizing that it hadn't been cut since Wednesday. He had to take better care of himself.

"Your shirt is OK. Just keep your jacket buttoned because that wine isn't going to come out without soap," Liz told him as he stepped into the living room again. He took the shirt and began buttoning it as she worked on the knot in his discarded tie.

"Don't worry, it's Saturday. I can skip the tie," he told her. She looked up to see him tucking the shirt into his pants and reaching for his jacket. She slipped the tie into the jacket pocket as he straightened his lapels.

He grasped her upper arms.

"Lemon, thank you," Jack said, his usual glibness gone as he searched for the right words. "There was no one else I wanted to talk to last night. Even if you fell asleep on me."

The usual smug superiority settled on the last few words, and Liz grinned at him in response.

"You're welcome. And you're going to be OK, Jack."

"I know," he said with a twinkle. "See you tomorrow for brunch."

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3 — Purely Social Purposes

**Chapter 3 — Purely Social Purposes**

The omelets were even better on Sunday. Then they looked through the samples that the decorator had left the day before.

"Why do you want to change anything in here, Jack? Your apartment is gorgeous," Liz said.

They had been walking through the dining room into his living room.

"I like the public spaces very well. It's taken a long time to acquire all of these pieces, but the bedrooms feel impersonal. Like a hotel. It's not what I want to look at every day anymore," he said.

"Kicking the bachelor pad aesthetic? I hope that just means bland sheets, not mirrors on the ceilings."

"Ha ha," he said dryly. "A well-placed mirror can be… well, there are no mirrors on the ceilings.

"Lemon," he said, changing the subject as they sat in the living room. "I've been working on renegotiating several contracts in the last week, and it reminded me how badly you continue to struggle with negotiation. We have to develop this skill in you."

"Oh, no. I don't want to talk to Business Jack this morning," Liz said. "And it's vacation, Jack. Hiatus. No work."

"As much as I would like to bring my A-game to bear on your training, we both know you're not ready for that. No, we're going to play a game. Poker."

Her nonplused expression gave way to a smile. "OK! We haven't had poker night since everyone scattered for the summer, and I kind of miss it," she said as he walked to a cabinet and withdrew a deck of cards. "And if you want to call poker my training in the art of bluffing, I'll live with that."

They played for two hours, and she endured his scolding over her tells. He tolerated her teasing about the deck shoes he was wearing.

"You're either leaving for Connecticut this afternoon or trying to impress a sorority girl or frat boy wearing the same shoes. What's wrong with sneakers or something?"

"Lemon, deck shoes are classic. They have been the choice of the casual wealthy for two generations. The shoes may be trendy now, but it's because everyone wants to be like… me."

She scoffed and reminded him of his recent urgings to reconnect with middle America and the "little people" when she wrote for the show.

"'Stay in touch with' does not mean 'live like.' I like these shoes and what they say about my social status, no matter your elitist or ageist accusations."

Liz still wrung a promise from him that he would go for a walk with her in Central Park to do his own reconnecting with the tourists who flocked to the city in the summer, as well as average New Yorkers out for recreation.

"That means bring your mace like everyone else," she said.

He laughed and dropped an arm over her shoulders in a rare show of affection as she gathered her purse, and Jack thanked her for coming over that morning.

"Thank _you_ for practicing your omelets on me again. I'm sure the single ladies of New York will thank _me_ for my service," she said, briefly squeezing his waist in response.

As she stepped away from him into the hall, he caught a faint herbal whiff that he now associated with Lemon after smelling like her shower products himself the day before. He took a deep breath and smiled at the warm feeling surrounding him.

"See you soon, Lemon."

* * *

The walk in Central Park led to a wine tasting as Jack had threatened that Friday night, and then to a movie, and a gallery opening, and dinner five times that month. As the summer bled back into the fall TV season, Liz returned to work and Jack got an invitation to the mayor's fall gala.

He hadn't seen much of Liz since she returned to work; she'd stopped by his office the day before to grumble about how much time it took each fall to stroke the egos of her stars. Tracy wanted her to look through the proofs for his second video game, "The Return of Dong Slayer." Jenna wanted Liz to listen to the album she'd written and recorded over the summer. Liz warned Jack to avoid Jenna for awhile since she knew Jenna was angling for corporate funding to develop the album into a musical.

"If those weird Norwegians can do it with _Mamma Mia_, imagine how the public will respond to _Virginal Shining Star_ and me!" Liz had said in a breathy imitation of Jenna's pitch.

Jack kept an eye out for Jenna as he walked out of the elevator onto the sixth floor. All clear. He walked back to Liz's office and smiled at the sight of her glaring at her computer screen.

"Glad to see you're maintaining your natural cheerful spirit here," he said as he walked toward her desk.

A smile stretched across her face at the sound of Jack's voice, and he briefly basked in its glow before she began ranting about a product placement problem that was eating her morning. He asked if they could switch to another product in the advertiser's family, and Liz had begun to explain the negotiations when they were interrupted.

"Jack!" Jenna's voice called from the door of the writers' room.

"Damn!" he said _sotto voce_ to Liz. "I was trying to avoid _Mamma Mia._"

He turned with a brilliant smile and cheek kiss for Jenna. She launched into an enthusiastic description of her music.

"…people are saying it's like Lady Gaga meets Grace Kelly and Beyoncé!"

"Hold just a second, Jenna," Jack interrupted. "This sounds like a fabulous project. I have an investor meeting in a few minutes upstairs. Will you call Jonathan to set up a time to talk about your vision so we can give it all the attention it deserves?"

Turning toward Liz again, he said, "Lemon, be a manager. Make your creative vision synergize with the advertiser."

She grimaced as he continued, "Also, Mayor Bloomberg's gala is Saturday night. Will you go with me?"

"Another night in Spanx and heels? Sure, Jack."

"Pick you up at seven. And ask Frank to update Danny's blog. It's doing very well with focus groups. Ladies," he said as he nodded a goodbye to Liz and then Jenna.

Jenna looked speculatively at Jack's retreating back and then sat on Liz's couch.

"'Another night?'" Jenna asked. "What's going on with you and Jack?"

"Nothing, Jenna. He's kind of at loose ends after breaking up with Avery. You know how I'm his last-minute stand-in for social events."

"No, that sounded like a date. Jack Donaghy is never at loose ends."

"Remember when we first had this conversation a couple of years ago before that utterly macabre party for Prince Gerhardt? I made an idiot of myself asking whether that was a date. He made it clear that he has no interest in me. We're just friends. Just hanging out."

"Define hanging out," Jenna said as she fingered a long curl spiraling over her shoulder.

"Let's see. We've gone to dinner a couple of times. A gallery. The park. A wine tasting. A movie. And I found out that he makes incredible omelets. Did you know the key is…."

At Jenna's arched eyebrow, Liz halted her culinary analysis and widened her eyes. "No! Not like that! We just had breakfast. Twice. He didn't spend the night. Well, he did accidentally, but not the way you're thinking. Not like that." She waved her arms in denial.

Jenna arched her other brow. "And how long has this 'hanging out' been happening?"

"Oh, maybe a month," Liz said.

Jenna looked at her friend steadily for a few seconds.

"So over the course of a month, you and Jack have hung out more than half a dozen times, he's spent the night…" she held up a hand to silence Liz's renewed protests, "he's spent the night, even if it wasn't _like that_. You have spent at least six evenings together — and apparently some other times, too — in the last month.

"Were you talking about work while you were hanging out?"

Liz shrugged.

"Were you talking about a new woman he's seeing? Or a new guy you're seeing?"

Liz shook her head twice.

"So you were hanging out a few times a week for purely social purposes," Jenna said.

Liz nodded.

"Do you touch each other?"

"No… well, yes. Kind of. Just a — I don't know — kind of awkward hug when we're headed home for the night. But that's new. Hugging isn't really his thing. Well, not with me. He does business hugs and kisses all the time, like just now with you…"

Jenna continued to watch Liz as she came to terms with her realization.

Liz looked a little queasy.

"Oh my God. We're dating."

"You're dating," Jenna confirmed.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4 — My Friend

**Chapter 4 — My Friend**

At Jenna's insistence, Liz went shopping for a dress to wear to the mayor's dinner instead of just raiding wardrobe.

"You don't have to ask him if it's a date, Liz. It is," Jenna said. "And you both know it, even if Jack hasn't had some wonderful, insightful friend like me wake him up to the fact to the fact that he has the hots for his pal Liz. He'll realize it soon enough.

"So knock his socks off on Saturday. I know it's more my style than yours, but don't be afraid to use your sexuality."

Jenna promised to limit her crises and neediness for the week and to enlist Pete to keep an eye on Tracy so that Liz could spend the better part of Wednesday afternoon shopping for a dress.

Other customers around Liz smiled and laughed and enjoyed browsing among dresses. Liz's brow furrowed as she rejected dress after dress and replayed the questions Jenna had asked after Liz's revelation that she had accidentally begun dating Jack.

"It's easy to start and stop dating someone. Especially when they don't know you're dating. So do you want to date Jack?"

Jack was… Jack. Did she want to be his friend? Absolutely. Did she want to spend her free time with him and support him and care for him and desire him and sleep with him and have babies with him? Wait, where did that come from? She's talking about dating Jack, not committing her life to him. But face it: she was closer to 40 than 30. How could that _not_ be a question about any potential relationship now? And….

Back up. The question was about Jack, not her own biological clock. Think about Jack. What else had Jenna asked?

"How do you feel when he touches you?"

Hmm. She never thought about touching Jack on purpose. She often wondered why they so awkwardly vacillated among handshakes, hugs, shoulder punches, and back pats. She wouldn't give it a second thought if Pete gave her a brief shoulder massage or if she accidentally collided with Frank in the hallway. But every contact with Jack was charged, as though neither of them quite knew the boundaries.

She knew that she'd always thought of Jack as off limits; he made it clear in the beginning that he had no romantic interest in her. So her mind just never went there. But now as she thought about cuddling into his solid, warm body on the couch and visualized those blue eyes looking down at her, Liz's stomach did a long, slow back flip. If she took away the past, their joking, their status as boss and employee, their roles as one another's romantic confidantes — if Jack were just a guy she saw on the street or at a party, would she want to hold his hand, kiss him, jump into bed with him? Those shoulders, those eyes, the quick smile and unrestrained laugh when she said something funny, the way he checked on how their relationship fared after a difficult week at work or when they fought — yes, yes, and yes.

Liz could definitely check off the "attracted to Jack" box.

"Is Jack what you want, the kind of man you can see yourself with?"

Who wanted an arrogant, elitist, conservative businessman who put a price on everything? But surprisingly, the sum of those parts wasn't so bad. He cared what she thought. He tried to help her develop as a person. He was honest with her — perhaps brutally so. He took chances on her (she pushed away the horrible memories of her one week at work on _Dealbreaker_). He had a job and loved his mother, even if he also loathed her a little, too. He always stood up for her in the end.

Yeah, Jack was the kind of man anyone would want. The kind of man she wanted.

"Who's the first person you'd call if something really good happened at work?"

Jack.

"Who's the first person you'd call if you found out you'd won a lifetime subscription to the cheese-of-the-month club?"

Jack.

"Who's the first person you'd call if you found out your mother was in the hospital?"

Jack.

He's the one who would understand no matter what, the man who had read her the first time he met her.

So back to the first question. Did she want to date Jack?

She was physically attracted to him. She liked him as a person, and he was her best friend. He was the person she'd choose to share all her big moments with.

Was she ready for their relationship to change, to be defined? It was good as things were. But what if it could be great? She didn't want less than they shared now. Yes. She wanted to date Jack. Now it just had to be his idea so he couldn't laugh the idea away if she presented it.

* * *

Jack stepped out of the car a little early on Saturday. All day he'd found himself unaccountably looking forward to the evening. Dinners like this were monotonous and obnoxious, relieved only by the shenanigans of the boozy power-hungry and those actually drunk on power. Lemon's comments about their manners and clothes and conversations never failed to brighten such nights. And her remarkable naiveté about the power players always led to satisfying opportunities to shock her and fuel her jokes.

He pressed the call button for her apartment. He heard a harried voice say she was still getting ready and to come upstairs. He found the door unlocked, and he entered the apartment chiding her behavior.

"Even if you know I'm on the way up, Lemon, you can't just leave the door unlocked. This is New York. You don't have a doorman in this building, and who knows all the unsavory characters skulking around."

"Yeah, Jack, someone is going to storm in during the 90 seconds it takes you to make it upstairs," she called from the bedroom. "Just finishing my makeup, and I'll be right out."

"Take your time," he called back as he leafed through the day's newspaper scattered on the coffee table.

He heard bottles clattering and took a moment to marvel that the woman who once had seemed to have a moral objection to lipstick could make herself presentable when necessary. He heard the sharp report of elastic snapping into place.

"Wardrobe malfunction?" he asked with a smirk.

"Suck it, Jack," she said as fabric continued to rustle.

Finally he heard the sound of a long zipper being drawn, so he began to fold the paper and turned to greet her.

"Ready?" he called.

She appeared in the doorway. "Ready," she said softly.

Liz watched with satisfaction as Jack's mouth dropped open ever so slightly.

He stood for a silent moment taking in the smooth hair that had been pulled up in loose curls, the sleek chocolate brown sheath that shimmered in the light and plunged to play her cleavage to full advantage, the high heels that peeked through a slit in the dress that went — good Lord! — all the way up to mid-thigh.

Jack cleared his throat as he caught his extended silence.

"You are stunning," he said roughly. "Really, Liz, well done."

"And you are very handsome yourself," she said as she walked in the room and lightly touched his bow tie to straighten it.

He held out his arm expectantly.

"Shall we?"

* * *

After Jack's initial surprise about how attractively Lemon had put herself together, he found himself on very familiar footing. Jack told her about the latest (gaudily overdone) drawings from the decorator, she asked what he'd done for Colleen's birthday, and they quietly mocked a congressman's indiscretion at the party.

Except Jack realized he wasn't dropping his arm after making sure Lemon didn't fall on her face down the stairs. And the hand that guided her through the crowded room lingered longer than necessary at the warm, silky fabric at the small of her back. There were plenty of interesting and important people milling about, but he never thought of leaving Liz's side, preferring to keep company with her.

As they talked with a director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an associate from Jack's brief stint in Washington, and an editor for the _New York Times_, Jack felt a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Jack!" He turned to see a broad smile on the face of Robert Johnston, who had started at GE about the same time Jack did. Johnston had risen to a vice presidency in one of the company's other subsidiaries, but Jack hadn't seen him in at least 10 years.

"Robert!" They shook hands heartily. "How the hell are you? And how's your family?"

"Great, just great. Kay is here somewhere. And you're here with —" Johnston's voice ended on a question.

Jack half-turned to put a hand on Lemon's back as she continued an animated conversation with the group.

"This is Liz Lemon, my…" Jack's voice caught in neutral as his brain raced.

Coworker? Too impersonal.

Companion? Too much like "escort" or "prostitute."

Platonic friend? Too bland. And who even said that?

Partner? Too many homosexual overtones or connotations of undefined commitment.

Not girlfriend or lover or wife.

Date? Not…. Jack's mouth fell slightly open for the second time that night. He was acting like he was on a date. With Liz Lemon.

"What, Jack?" Liz had finally extricated herself from conversation and turned toward him. He gave her a brief, unfocused smile.

"Robert, this is my friend, Elizabeth Lemon."

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5 — A Building Fire

**Chapter 5 — A Building Fire**

Jack felt like he was in a fog. He thought he was smiling, laughing, and shaking hands at all the right times, but he couldn't think of the last time he'd wanted so badly to ditch an event.

Lemon? He was on a date with Lemon? And until he'd realized it was a date, he'd been having a good time. Not that he wasn't having a good time anymore. He was just surprised, confused, a little overwhelmed by this notion.

His internal monologue continued as he kept smiling, laughing, and shaking hands. Jack realized that none of the monologue expressed horror or disgust at this turn of events. He was actually excited about the possibilities. But what if Lemon wasn't on the same page? He'd made it clear enough for four years that they were coworkers, that he was a professional mentor, that they were certainly friends but with a stress on "platonic." Why had he worked so hard to define this relationship? He needed to talk to Lemon to try to feel his way through this relational minefield.

Liz saw Jack check his watch.

"Are you about to turn into a pumpkin?" she asked. "I know these things aren't your favorite…."

"Actually, I enjoy these events quite a lot when you're with me," he said smoothly. "But I was thinking that those cream puffs for dessert left a lot to be desired. Can I interest you in leaving to get ice cream?"

Her eyes lit up. "Yes, please! The answer is always yes."

His inner monologue suddenly muted itself. Jack had no idea how this situation would play out, but he much preferred enjoying the moment with her. He winked and took her arm.

* * *

Their waffle cones dripped in the warm night. Liz had hemmed and hawed over butter pecan or chunky chocolate explosion, but butter pecan had won. It always did. Still, she found herself thinking a little jealously of the dark chocolate ice cream that Jack had chosen.

"Just a taste of chocolate?" she asked hopefully as they strolled down the street. "You can have some butter pecan."

"You don't like it enough to commit to it, but that doesn't stop you from wanting it all," he teased, stopping on the sidewalk.

Liz moved to tuck her purse under one arm so she would have a free hand to take his cone.

Jack held up a hand to stop her awkward effort. "I've got it," he said as he held his ice cream up.

She took a tentative step forward and swiped some ice cream from the side.

"Mmm, good choice, Jack. It's not too sweet like some chocolate ice cream is."

"I believe you offered a _quid pro quo_," he said, raising an eyebrow in question but making no effort to reach for her ice cream.

"Oh. Yeah," she said as she realized he was waiting for her. "Make sure you get one of the pecans. They didn't crush them into oblivion, so they're really good."

He glanced at the cone to make sure he aimed correctly but then didn't take his eyes off Liz's as she held the ice cream up for him.

"Very good," he said softly, his eyes still locked with hers.

"You can't go wrong with a classic flavor," she said, still standing a half-step too close.

"Classic ice cream flavors, classic microwave buttons… where's the innovation in your life?" The teasing tone returned to his voice as they started walking again.

"What can I say? I like what I know," she said.

"For example, you know me," he said.

Liz rolled her eyes at the leading inference.

"Probably better than most, and I still like you," she said dryly. Her tone then softened so he could hear the sincerity shining off each word.

"I do like you, Jack. You don't let a lot of people get past your wall of arrogance and dismissiveness, but here I am. And I know you're thoughtful and kind and loyal and a lot of fun for an evening out, and I'm proud that we're friends. Most of the time." Her joking tone returned to temper the heartfelt statement.

Jack squeezed her arm gently, letting the words wash over him. Liz felt him take a deep breath.

"I don't think there's anyone who knows me better. And I don't think anyone knows you better than I do. And yes," he said over the beginning of her question, "I like you. You are my… best friend.

"There's no one else I'd rather talk to when I'm upset. There's no one else whose opinion I value more, even if I don't always listen. There's no one else I'd rather spend time with."

They both were quiet for a minute as they thought back on all the time they'd spent together recently.

"So that's why I'm wondering why I've been looking for the last four years for any other woman to share my life."

Liz came to a complete stop facing him as he continued.

"I thought it was just about business or then after awhile, maybe friendship. But if I'm just trying to make everyone else measure up to you, then I think I found the one a long time ago, Liz."

"Are you serious?" she blurted.

He smiled gently. "Yes."

"Jack, you win all my favorite-friend contests, too," she said as she wrung her hands and looked a bit panicked. "But is that enough? Is that all we should want in a relationship? Is this just settling?"

"First of all, favorite-friend status is not all I want in this relationship," he said, slipping his hands around her waist. "And secondly, how could I ever have imagined a woman like you, Lemon? How could I even know to want that?

"I kept chasing all the same kind of women I'd always chased and had a good time, but I couldn't figure out why I felt only a passing regret when things ended with any of them. Because I could always call you and I'd feel better. I don't want to take that for granted anymore because I'd feel a lot more than passing regret if you were no longer in my life. Is that settling? No, it's not settling when I discover exactly what I need along the way."

"No," she breathed. Liz shook herself and took a deep breath. "OK. You've laid out how you feel, so — ah — I'll share my soft and vulnerable side, too. No jokes. No defenses. You're not the only one who's thought that we could be more than friends." She stopped as they smiled in delight mixed with relief that neither found themselves here alone.

"I don't get nervous when I stand this close to other men." His arms tightened slightly. "And the jokes about a secret relationship or unrequited love have been surprisingly easy to make over and over and over — and I'm a comedy writer who knows better than to flog a joke to death. So I think there's something here that neither of us…." Her voice trailed off as Jack leaned close.

His lips touched hers gently. If either of them was honest later, the first kiss wasn't great. They were tentative and a little too conscious of changing the boundaries between themselves.

But the electricity that crackled in response to their first effort burned away their awkward uncertainty. Liz found her body pressed flush against Jack's, thinking she wouldn't be able to stand if she let go. And Jack wasn't thinking of anything at all as he kissed Liz with the same intensity he brought to everything else in his life.

He was kissing his way down her neck, breathing in the familiar honey oatmeal scent when he realized they needed to stop before he undressed her on the street. He eased up and pressed one last, slow kiss at the curve of her neck.

Liz sensed the shift and leaned back in his embrace, looking at those piercing blue eyes.

He answered the unspoken question he saw in her gaze. "Good. Really, really good."

She leaned back in to hug him. No groping, no attempt to reignite what they'd begun. Just a comfortable, safe place to marvel in the wonder of the moment. Jack rested his head against hers and closed his eyes at the sound of her contented sigh.

"Yeah, really good," she said. "I thought it would be weird. It's not."

"No," he agreed. He kept one arm around her waist as they started walking again.

His car pulled up alongside them. Jack had told the driver to circle around awhile and they'd get back in when they finished their ice cream.

He held the car door open for Liz.

"Jack…" she said, pausing in the doorway.

"Relax. I'm taking you home. Then _I'm_ going home. Until we figure out what this is," he gestured between them, "we're not going to do anything to change what we've already got."

She smiled. "OK. Good. That's good."

Liz slid into the car and he sat close beside her, twining his fingers with hers.

"Since we're figuring this out," Liz said, "would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow?"

"On a date?" he asked. "Of course."

He kissed her again, slow and gentle and sweet. Her response gave Jack a lot of hope for their future. She was sitting in his lap by they time they noticed the car had stopped.

"I'll walk you upstairs," he said, his voice raspy.

She smoothed her hair down and swung toward the door. "What's that smell?"

They looked up to see black smoke pouring out of the windows of the upper floors of her building, flames licking around the edges.

"Aw, nerds!" She jumped out of the car and stared at the fire. Jack grabbed her hand and spotted several fire fighters who seemed to be supervising the others' efforts. He was about to suggest that they try to find out what was happening when she spun toward him.

"Did you send Jonathan over to burn down my apartment so that I'd have no choice but to go home with you and be comforted in my time of need?"

Jack burst into laughter.

"Lemon, when we go to bed together, it will be because you want to, not because I tricked you. I had nothing to do with this, and Jonathan's probably not yet jealous enough of you to try this on his own. Now let's find out what's happening."

"Sorry," she muttered and followed him toward the fire truck. He squeezed her arm the way he'd done all night, and she knew things were all right with him even if her home was burning down.

They learned that a fire had started in a kitchen on the fourteenth floor and had spread upward. The fire fighters made no promises but said smoke and water damage were likely to be her only problems on the lower floors. Still, it would be several days until they evaluated the building's safety or let anyone back inside.

She backed up to watch the building a little longer.

"You're welcome to stay at my apartment as long as you need, Lemon. You can have your pick of the sterile guest bedrooms and help me yell at the decorator for taking so long when she comes over again this week."

"Thanks, Jack."

The smell of smoke followed them back in the car. Liz speculated about which neighbor had caused the fire as she leaned against Jack's side.

When they reached his apartment, he showed her to a bedroom and pointed out the attached bathroom.

"Take a shower," he suggested. "I'll try to find something for you to wear and come back to check on you in awhile."

She felt tired and numb as she smiled at him. "Thanks, Jack."

The hot water washed away the smoke, and she found herself laughing at the idea that in the span of a few hours, she'd circulated through a formal event, eaten ice cream on the street, made out with Jack, watched her building burn, and now stood naked in Jack's house with nothing to wear for the next few days except her dress and assorted Spanx.

She poked her head out of the steamy bathroom and saw that Jack had left a pile of clothes on the bed and shut the bedroom door on his way out. Liz proceeded into the bedroom and vowed that she'd kill Jack if he kept a supply of lingerie on hand at his house for occasions like this.

What she found instead was an old Princeton T-shirt, pair of boxers, and a robe. His robe, she realized as she caught the scent of his aftershave when she picked it up. The shorts hung low on her hips, but the T-shirt covered almost everything anyway. She shivered as her hair dripped, and she wrapped Jack's robe around herself, rolling the sleeves back a few times.

She'd seen a hair dryer in the cabinet when she'd gotten a towel earlier. With no gel or cream or serum to tame it, her hair would be a fuzzy triangle after she dried it, but that was better than the snarled 'fro she'd have in the morning if she slept on wet hair. The constant drone of the dryer relaxed her as exhaustion set in. She was winding the cord to put the dryer away when a knock on the bedroom door startled her.

"Come in," she called.

She came out of the bathroom to find Jack putting a fan on the table in the corner. His hair was slicked back after his own shower, and he wore pajama pants and a plain white undershirt.

"I don't have a humidifier lying around, but here's a fan if you'd like some moving air. You have everything you need?" he asked.

"I'm good," Liz said. "Thank you. Really. And if it hadn't been you I was out with tonight when I came home to find my building on fire, you're the person I would have called. Good news or bad news, you're the first one I want to talk to. And the only one whose help I might actually accept."

"Then we're off to a good start," he said, dropping a kiss on her hairline. "And Lemon? I don't know why you've been going on about your feet all these years. They're perfectly fine feet."

She gasped in indignation as she looked down at her bare feet. Jack had retreated quickly, but she still caught him in the back of the head with the pillow she tossed.

Jack grinned unrepentantly and winked as he closed the bedroom door. Liz's laughter followed him into the hall.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6 — Walk of Shame

**Chapter 6 — Walk of Shame**

"It feels like the ultimate walk of shame," Liz grumbled as she yanked at her form-fitting dress.

"This from the woman who once wore a wedding dress for an entire day at work," Jack said.

She glared at him.

"You'll be fine," he said briskly. "Just buy the first thing you see and change immediately. You're going out just as the stores are opening on a Sunday. Who's going to see you?"

"Blerg."

"That's the spirit. And remember that you asked me out to dinner tonight, so please buy something in addition to sweats."

Liz laughed in spite of herself. She had wedged her feet back into the heels and was ready to go, but she felt a bit awkward. What were the rules here? Should she tell Jack when she'd be back, ask about his plans? What would she have done a week ago?

"Have fun," he said. "And, Liz, you never need permission to kiss me on the way out the door."

She laughed again and gave him a hard, fast kiss full of affection for rescuing her from that moment.

* * *

Liz felt a little strange riding in the company car Jack had called when she was so used to the subway and cabs. But it represented that many fewer people today who would see her dressed for Saturday night on Sunday morning, so she would have her principles about public transit some other time.

And as irritating as it was to have to shop for three or four days of clothes at once, she had noticed lately some frayed sweaters and resistant stains, so she could use a few new clothes. She had the driver drop her off at Macy's, figuring that a big department store would be simplest since she needed everything from underwear to shoes.

But first to sportswear for jeans and a shirt that would remove the neon sign over her head that flashed "Whore!" to anyone who looked her way.

"Liz?" a voice questioned from below her on the escalator.

No. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She turned around to see Jenna grinning slyly up at her.

"I told you it was a date!" Jenna squealed.

"No, Jenna. Really. I mean, yes, it was a date. But it's not what it looks like. It's…."

"A walk of shame! Congratulations, Liz!"

"Jack had me home by midnight, but one of the apartments in my building caught on fire last night. The fire fighters won't let anyone in for the next couple of days. So Jack was a gentleman and let me stay in one of his _spare_ bedrooms, and now I'm getting some clothes to make it through a couple of days."

"Wait, I thought you said it was a date. What's wrong with Jack's bed that he wanted to use another room?" Jenna asked, predictably skipping over the part about a potentially burned up apartment.

"No bed-sharing! We talked, and we're taking it slow," Liz said.

"Oh, I get it," Jenna nodded knowingly. "You've never been one to kiss and tell. Your secret is safe with me!"

"No, Jenna," Liz said, exasperated. "Wait, what are you doing out in public in full makeup and a sundress made for someone twenty years younger?"

"This is one of the best places to get photographed! I'm trying to raise my profile going into this season, so I need to make as many magazines as possible! But if I hang out with you, that dress and its implied affair are going to steal the show, so disappear, OK?"

"Sure, Jenna," Liz said with a roll of her eyes. "Just don't… don't say _anything_ to _anyone_ about seeing me like this. I don't want any rumors. Remember, we're trying to raise your profile, not mine!"

"Whatever. You look really hot, by the way!" Jenna said, bouncing away and barely containing all of her body parts in the skimpy dress.

Liz ran in the other direction.

In short order, she gathered a pair of jeans, black pants, two T-shirts, button-down shirt, sweater, blazer, satin blouse (never let it be said that she couldn't add a new style to the work wardrobe now and then), classic little black dress, strand of fake pearls, two pair of shoes, pajama pants, and a handful of underwear, bras, and socks. Pushing her credit card across the counter for the last time, Liz breathed a sigh of relief.

With a little creative combination, she could wear these clothes for a week or more before anyone noticed repetition. And even if they did, they probably wouldn't think anything strange, Liz realized ruefully. She wasn't always on top of her wardrobe rotation.

She made a final stop at a drug store for a hairbrush, frizz-control cream, toothbrush, deodorant, mascara, and lip gloss. Done. She could be totally presentable now so that no one would guess she was camped out at the home of — who? Boss? Friend? Boyfriend? Ugh. She and Jack still had a lot of talking to do.

* * *

Liz had been working on Jack's computer for an hour when he came home. He had been gone when she returned, so she threw her new clothes in the washer to get the store smell and dust out of them. Jack's T-shirt and robe would do for awhile longer.

He found her in study, oblivious to his arrival and singing along to the music streaming loudly from his computer.

"It doesn't look like anything changed," he said.

She snapped out of her performance of the _Glee_ version of "Don't Stop Believin'."

"Hey! No, I bought a lot of stuff. It's in the dryer now. Wearing clothes that gross people may have tried on is… gross. Anyway, my mini-wardrobe is complete."

"Anything I'll like, Lemon?" he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

She blushed.

"Depends on if you like the person wearing it," she said. "And you don't have to hover. You don't need permission to kiss me."

He grinned as she threw his words back at him and leaned over to answer her invitation.

"What time do you want to leave for dinner?" he asked.

Liz considered the clock.

"Are we dealing with the crazy before or after dinner?"

"After," he said decisively. "I'll never put our relationship between you and food."

He got the badger face in response, followed by, "Two hours, then."

"OK. Will it bother you if I turn on the TV in here?" he asked.

"Go ahead. I'm almost done. Then I've got to go get my sexy on," she said with a spastic 80's shimmy.

"I'm so lucky," he said, chuckling as he flipped to _Market Watch: Weekend Edition_.

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7 — A Little Bit Married

**Chapter 7 — A Little Bit Married**

Jack was actually the first one to ask the question.

"What are we doing?"

Liz set down her fork beside her salad.

"I don't know," she said a little desperately. "But I don't think I can have this conversation in a restaurant. Let's eat. Let's have a good time and not be weird. And if we can do that, then let's try to figure out what we're doing."

And it wasn't weird. They talked and laughed, and Jack kissed her in the car on the way home. Back at his apartment with a scotch in his hand and pinot grigio in hers, they started to talk.

"Are we forcing something here?" Liz asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, we are spending the last half of our first real date talking about our relationship. I kicked off my shoes at the door, and you've lost your jacket and tie, so we're clearly not trying to impress each other. You spent half the summer engaged to another woman, and I was even engaged for about three hours. Why is this just happening now after four years? It doesn't feel much different than before. Except we're spending more time together — and the kissing. I like the kissing."

He took her hand.

"I like kissing you, too," he said, smiling softly. He made a visible effort to refocus on the conversation.

"Well… of course it's not a normal first date. You're not someone I've just met. You know about my job, I know about yours. I know what music you like, and you know what I listen to. You know my favorite foods, and I know yours. I've had dinner with your parents, and you have regular dealings with my mother. There's not more getting-to-know-you filler left for us to have a normal first date."

"True," Liz conceded. "It's like we've been dating for a couple of years."

"Maybe in our own way, we have."

"Except…" Liz said, clearly uncomfortable. She squeezed his hand as if for moral support and plunged ahead in a rush. "Except then it's really weird that all we've done is kiss. And don't think I'm ready to do more. Yet. But then what if we get caught in an endless holding pattern…"

"Lemon, I'm really proud of you!" Jack's voice glowed with surprised pride. "That's a big step for you to be able to discuss sex in a manner as straightforwardly as your average 15-year-old!"

"Ew, Jack! You can't go all mentor on me right now when you're the potential sexual partner!"

He laughed.

"OK, your big breakthrough aside — yes, this is highly unusual. But I'm enjoying myself a great deal and have no problem moving forward at some point, and you seem to be saying the same thing."

She nodded.

"Very good," he said. "But a very wise person told me a few months ago that sex complicates relationships."

"Not like you listened to my advice then," Liz said.

"But I learn from my mistakes. So as I said last night, I won't be trying anything with you until we're absolutely sure that we're both comfortable here."

"Which absolutely won't be while I'm staying with you," she said. "No need to live out a trashy romance novel."

"You mean I could have spared Jonathan the trouble of setting your building on fire?" he asked.

She laughed and leaned into his shoulder as he teased her about losing it the night before.

"OK. Nothing happens while you're here," he said. He rubbed the back of her hand lightly and continued as if weighing each word. "In fact, you can know when we make love for the first time, I am not just experimenting. I will be acting on a commitment to you and making you happy."

Liz swallowed past a lump in her throat.

"Commitment? Jack, I…" she trailed off.

"Go ahead," he urged. "I can only read your mind sometimes. I need to know what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking that this is all I could ever hope to hear — mostly because it's you saying it. What 39-year-old woman doesn't want to talk about commitment? But I've seen the women you've dated. I've heard you talk about sex. And I'm realistic: I'm not that beautiful, young, adventurous, or experienced. So I'm not saying that I don't believe you about desire or commitment. But no matter what you say, I've still got a voice in my head telling me that you'll move on when you come to your senses."

Jack nodded thoughtfully.

"First of all, I'm sorry for everything I've ever said that makes you feel insecure with me," he said. "I think you're beautiful. Not 'in spite of' or 'with the exception of' or 'in comparison to.' I am looking at you, my friend, and seeing a vibrant woman whom I'm realizing I love much differently than just as a friend.

"And don't get the idea that I'm forcing a physical attraction to you in order to make this work," he continued. "I want you… very much. But even more, I want you to know that you mean more to me than any of the women I've taken to bed without a thought. I'm thinking very much about this, Liz — and I think it's going to make the reward much sweeter."

"Thank you for saying that," she whispered.

He wrapped his arm around her and they sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"So don't doubt yourself," he concluded. "I told you the day that we met that I liked your boldness —"

"—because it was that of a much younger woman!" she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Exactly! You've been appealing to me in one way or another since the beginning. Your confidence balanced with humility, your curiosity and determination — well, I have no fear of being disappointed in bed with you. So don't listen to that voice in your head or anyone or anything else that tells you what I expect. Just be your spectacular self."

"Blerg. So OK, hot shot, what if the Jack Donaghy myth isn't all that _I_ expected?"

"That is not possible," he said dismissively.

She laughed.

"Just teasing. I like you, Jack, and I'm only a little afraid of you. Just be honest about what you want and need, and I'll try to do the same thing."

They fell into another companionable silence.

"What do you think it means that we're already a little bit married?" Liz asked suddenly.

He looked bewildered. "Pardon?"

"You know. I said earlier that it's like we've been dating for years. But it's really stuff that people do after they've been married 10 years. Dealing with each other's families. Talking about stuff. I _ironed your shirt_ the other day. You coming in to watch TV earlier while I worked while wearing your robe."

"Am I getting that back, by the way, now that you've gone shopping?" he asked.

"It left it on your bed earlier," she said. "But the T-shirt is mine indefinitely."

"OK, a little bit married," he said. "That's never happened to me before. But I haven't yet had a successful relationship, so again I say — we're off to a good start."

"Hmm," Liz nodded in agreement. "Oh, and Jenna knows… whatever she thinks she knows. I ran into her at the store this afternoon."

"So we're coming out at work tomorrow," Jack said, more statement than question.

"The Donaghy-Lemon train has left the station. Wanna play hooky?"

"Not a chance," he said with a grin.

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8 — Money's on the Equinox

**Chapter 8 — Money's on the Autumnal Equinox**

Liz felt like a fox released at a hunt. Or a sitting duck, and the rest of her analogies also included an animal facing certain death. She liked her staff. Most days. Their lives were intertwined like a bizarre family, and they were nosy and inappropriate because they cared. And perhaps because they had borderline personality disorders.

But she still didn't relish the prospect of her personal life at center stage. Granted, this was far less embarrassing than introducing Dennis to them. Or flipping out when she found out Floyd was engaged. But this would be of more than passing interest to the staff. This was her and _Jack_.

Perhaps the saving grace about the timing of their relationship was the season premiere of _TGS_ that Friday. It would be a busy week. She heard the writers gathering at the table outside her office. How much energy could they possibly have to torment anyone?

"Dude, I still can't believe you got back together with your college a cappella group over the summer," Frank said to Toofer. "And that you posted videos of yourself to YouTube. I'll admit, your version of 'Hotel California' wasn't bad. But I'm still cringing over 'Hey Juuu—de.'"

"The group reunion was very fulfilling," Toofer said stiffly. "You can make fun all you want since you have not managed in the last week to think of anything you did all summer except watch porn."

"And I'm very proud of that."

Liz tuned out as her phone rang and she heard Jack's voice on the line.

"How are the natives?" he asked.

"Restless," she said. "But I don't think they've heard anything yet."

"And when they do, it's not the end of the world," he said. "Let me know if I need to stop by."

She walked out to the writers' table with a stack of newspapers and pile of sketch ideas they'd begun brainstorming the week before.

"Hey, Liz. How was your weekend?" Pete asked as he sat down.

"Crazy," she said. "An apartment in my building caught on fire Saturday night, and we're all still out while the fire department is checking the building."

"Whoa! Are you OK? Did your apartment burn?" Pete asked.

"I wasn't there when it happened, so I'm fine, but I haven't been inside yet. I've got to call the fire guys later. They said they might clear the building today or tomorrow."

"So did you move into your office over the weekend?" Toofer asked.

_Tread lightly, tread lightly_, Liz urged herself.

"No, I was at the mayor's big shindig with Jack when the fire started. He offered to let me stay at his place for a couple of days. So that's where I've been."

"Weird," Frank said from beneath his "Vampire Bait" hat. "But cool. We're glad you're OK, Liz."

"Yeah, let us know if you need anything," Pete said.

"Well, what I really need," she said, starting to pass around a list of evergreen sketch ideas from the week before, "is some more topical ideas."

The groans drowned her out.

* * *

Jack saw Pete stirring his coffee at the snack counter.

"How's the show looking so far, Pete?" Jack asked as he walked by.

"Shaping up pretty good. The writers have some solid ideas," Pete said. "Hey, Jack, what you're doing for Liz is great."

Jack stopped and pursed his lips. _How much did Pete know?_

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I'm glad she has a friend like you with some extra space after that crappy fire."

"It's working out fine," Jack said. "I'm happy to be able to help."

He continued his way toward the writers' room and found Liz at her desk eating a sandwich.

"So they know that you're staying with me after the fire but no more?" he asked.

She nodded as she wiped mustard from the corner of her mouth.

"Jenna's coming in this afternoon, so that may change soon," she said. "We're doing a read-through in a couple of hours, so everyone will be here then."

"Do you want to play Jenna off as crazy and keep quiet awhile longer?"

She eyed him fondly.

"No," she said. "I mean, I'm not going to bring it up, but it's fine with me if this comes out sooner rather than later."

"Want to close the door and come out disheveled in about 20 minutes to pique their speculation?" he asked playfully and a little hopefully.

"No," she said with mock severity. "Not with the children in the next room!"

He laughed.

"Oh, I talked to a woman at the fire station," Liz continued. "She said I can walk through my apartment tomorrow to see what needs to be cleaned up and repaired."

"Would you like me to come with you?" he asked.

She looked surprised and pleased at the offer.

"I'll call Jonathan with a time," she said.

He stood with a smile.

"Tracy will be at the read-through later?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then I'll see you again when I come to find him," Jack said. "We've got to discuss appropriate flirting after an incident with a magazine interview this weekend."

* * *

"Don't try to keep me down, Jackie D!" Tracy said belligerently. "Dot Com was there. She's the one who wanted to do the interview at the strip club!"

Dot Com shrugged at Jack.

"Yes, Tracy, I understand your desire to be authentic," Jack said. "But when a journalist calls our legal department after an interview, I'm afraid that you might not have conveyed the message you wanted to."

"Oh, I conveyed the message I wanted to," Tracy said with a toothy grin.

"Tracy, as long as…" Jack began.

"This is very upsetting to me! Grizz! I need you to sit on me now!"

Liz stepped between Tracy and the door.

"No, no! Don't go back to your dressing room!" she pleaded. "Grizz can sit on you here. It will probably calm you down to hear how funny you'll be in the show this week!"

Tracy's frown deepened as he flopped onto the floor.

Liz spun to Pete and told him to have someone find Jenna as fast as possible so they could meet before Tracy melted down.

"You better think of something to make him happy again because I can't put out a premiere if he's in a sit-on-me mood all week!" Liz hissed to Jack.

"Happiness is in your job description, not mine," he said. "Lemon, be —"

"—a manager!" she finished the sentence with him in exasperation.

He raised an eyebrow in delight and said, "Exactly!" as she was unable to stifle a laugh.

Jenna swept into the writers' room.

"I'm here! Guess what?" she said, pausing slightly at the sight of Tracy stretched out on the floor, the writers at the table, and Jack and Liz in mid-laugh.

Jenna made a split-second decision to play the excited friend rather than the bearer of juicy gossip since it looked like they'd already stolen her thunder.

"Isn't it great about Jack and Liz?" she asked.

Liz started to step forward, but Jack discreetly caught her sleeve, waiting to see how the question was received.

"What, that Jack's letting Liz stay at his place since her building burned?" Frank said. "It's pretty awesome."

"No, silly, that… wait, what?" Jenna turned toward Liz.

"Remember, I told you about the fire yesterday, and that's why I was out buying clothes?" Liz said.

"Yeah, you look nice today, Liz," Lutz said around a pretzel. Liz nodded an acknowledgment as she stayed focused on Jenna.

"So there's nothing between you and Jack?" Jenna asked.

Liz opened her mouth. Closed it again. Jack's face bore a similar trapped expression.

"I knew it!" Jenna crowed.

Simultaneously, Frank groaned. "Seriously?"

Toofer looked a little disgusted.

Jack cleared his throat.

"Yes, Liz and I have been seeing each other lately," he said. "We're both happy and hope you will be supportive."

"And appropriate," Liz interjected.

"Didn't you see your characters in Liz's porn?" Frank howled. "Do you know how wrong this is?"

"Shut it down, Frank," Pete said. "Nobody wants that in their heads."

Liz had begun to smile gratefully at Pete, but the expression curdled as he concluded.

From the floor, Tracy, shouted, "Grizz! Get the hell off me! Can't you tell I'm calm now?"

Grizz pulled Tracy to his feet as the actor continue to holler, "Pay up, fools! I had Jackie D. and Liz Lemon hooking up between the end of hiatus and the autumnal equinox. I don't even know what that is!"

Everyone at the writers' table reached for their wallets.

Liz's mouth opened in horror.

"You were betting on when Jack and I would get together?"

"Well, yeah," Lutz said, looking slightly abashed. "The pool has been going on for three years. It's gotten pretty big."

"And I won!" Tracy said.

"I can fire all of you," she said. "Jack can fire all of you. How do you feel about getting double-fired?"

"Betting on office relationships is inappropriate," Jack said primly. "So I withdraw my standing wager on which team Sue plays for."

The usually silent writer looked around the room with betrayed disgust, and everyone else nodded and leaned back as though taking Jack's reprimand to heart.

However, as Jack turned to speak to Liz, Tracy began making exaggerated silent gestures demanding his money, and everyone pulled out the cash again.

"What part of their reaction surprises you, Lemon?" Jack asked softly.

"I'm not surprised… but betting? A three-year office pool on us? Come on, Jack."

"So they figured it out before we did. Let them enjoy the moment."

"Is that what the Six Sigmas would say?"

"Perhaps not directly," he said. "But under the principle of male enhancement…."

"Ugh. Forget I asked," Liz said. "Fine. Let them have their juvenile obnoxiousness. But I could fire them. If I wanted."

They turned back to hear the table at large mocking Lutz about his make-believe girlfriend, Karen.

"Everyone's fair game," Jack said in Liz's ear. "Our turn comes and goes."

"Jack, Liz," Jenna said. "I've never been so happy to say 'I told you so.' I hope you'll have as strong a bond as the one between me and Paul. I was just telling shim yesterday…."

"Thanks, Jenna," Liz interrupted her.

"And Liz, I want to take you shopping for some real lingerie," Jenna said earnestly. "I've seen your laundry, and I'm sure Jack agrees that you need some help. My astrologer introduced me to this great shop uptown run by a very creative one-armed Filipino woman."

"Actually, Jenna," Jack broke in, "I prefer that Liz shop on her own. I think she has a unique sense of what I appreciate."

"Oh, I get it," Jenna said. "You two must be into some really weird stuff that you don't want anyone to know about."

"Something like that," Liz said distractedly, still looking at Jack, who winked and mouthed, "Just be you!"

Liz blushed as she squeezed Jack's hand.

"Get a room," Frank said.

"OK, nerds, the Jack and Liz show is over," Liz said. "We've got a real show on Friday, so let's get back to work."

The writers turned reluctantly back to the table.

"See you later," Jack said quietly.

"Will you cook dinner tonight? I could use an omelet," she said.

Jack grinned at her and raised his voice to the room at large.

"Try to produce something this week that will earn marginally better ratings in the timeslot than ABC, which actually is being programmed by trained chimps now," he called to the writers as he walked toward the door. "And be nice to my girlfriend."

END


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